


Splicing Hope

by onestepatatime



Series: Hobbit/Jupiter Ascending Crossover [1]
Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Jupiter Ascending Crossover AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-06-24 15:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15633666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onestepatatime/pseuds/onestepatatime
Summary: Bilbo was the foundling grandchild of House Took that ended up inheriting the largest fortune after the Old Took died. Now Bilbo just has to survive until he reaches his 21st birthday to become heir to his new fortune. Not trusting anyone, Bilbo chooses the most unlikely splices, including a completely uncooperative trinome, lycantant/kinnatant splice named Thorin, to be head of his Royal Guard. Can they all survive each other, much less the wheelings and dealings of Bilbo's jealous, and perhaps, murderous cousins?





	1. Book Cover/Trinome Descriptions

**Author's Note:**

> Legal Disclaimer: All trademarks and copyrights are owned by their respective owners. I make no profit from this story.
> 
> This story is influenced by and in the Jupiter Ascending universe. I really like that movie, but I only write Hobbit, so here you go.

Book Cover:

 

 

Back Cover Blurb:

_It is a universal truth that the High Houses of Orous were put into power by Fate to keep order in the cosmos. It is also a universal truth that nothing lasts forever. What happens when these truths collide as a betrayed splice meets an unlikely heir? Why should the High Houses sit up and take note of this critical time in a minor House's history? Because, Fate tends to notice the ripple effects of such a collision as a third universal truth is formed from it, the power of friendship._

 

Trinome Descriptions for the Lycantant/Kinnatant Splice:

Trinome is the scientific term used for a splice whose human genome base has been enhanced with any two of a variety of stock materials. The Durin trinome is a combination of lycanus, raptor, and human genomes spliced together for the purpose of court guard for House Cotton.

History of the Durin Clan: called Durin’s Folk, respectively. The formal clan was broken up in the last century, with most of the younger individuals were sold out of House Cotton territory. The last few remaining House trinomes have been sold off in the previous twenty years. The only group holding out is the Iron Hills Guild. Their ancestors went into considerable debt to free a small group of Durin's Folk. Still in debt today, this guild is known for its artisans and craftsmen. They sell their exclusive wares from their shops, supplied by their fleet of merchant ships.

Dhole Attributes:  Most ‘lycantant' splice breeds are based on the lupus-based, wolf-like ‘Varg’ of Cortata 7, in the Vargas Sector of the Commonwealth-owned Andros galaxy. These animals are born into a pack structure consisting of their parents and older siblings. Lycantants sourced from the Varg do well in the unchanging structure of a pack consisting of their siblings. Originally bred for the Legion, they do well in group settings such as squads and platoons, but fail to perform as needed in solo or small group scenarios consistently. When the inflexibility of the ‘canis’ genus hierarchal structure could not meet the flexibility needed for Legion needs beyond basic infantry, splicers began to use another branch of the Canidae, or 'lycanus' family tree.

Tasked by the Legion to create a more versatile and independent soldier, the Armon Splicers’ Guild found the answer to their needs in the subfamily ‘tribe’ of Canidae, the Canini. Trial and error revealed that the best candidate was Cuon alpinus from the Abrasax territory. The genetic source material is rumored to have been smuggled off of a harvest world during the chaotic period following the murder of the Abrasax House Sovereign.

Known on this harvest world as the Dhole, or ‘forest dog’, this animal also has a relative on its world similar to the Varg, the wolf. The Dhole separated from the wolf line before the Great Expansion; evolving traits deemed ideal for Legion needs. The Dhole is social, living in ‘clans’ without the Varg's set hierarchy. Clan members break off into ‘packs' to hunt, but they live in a group ranging from 12 to 40 members. As a ‘clan’ can have several breeding females, dominance is less of a hierarchical factor, rarely engaging in aggressive dominance displays.

The new lycantant splice became favored by the Legion, as group size needed for assignments are now without causing problems in the packs. This splice also faired better when packs and clans were assigned to close quarters with Varg- based lycantants. Though somewhat smaller in stature, they are more tolerant of dominance displays. Troublesome packs of a dozen or so Varg-based soldiers are quickly brought into submission when all of the Dhole-based clans cooperate and vastly outnumber them. The Legion secured a permanent contract with the Armon Splicers' Guild for this splice when it was proven that orphan and clan rejects, a costly loss with 100% mortality in lupus infants, had a 40% survival rate. These orphans are prized for unique, classified skills.

Gray Wolf

Family: _Canidae_   Genus: _Canis_   Species: _Canis lupus_

Dhole

Family: _Canidae_   Tribe: _Canini_   Genus: _Cuon_   Species: _Cuon alpinus_

Raptor Attributes: The raptor additions to the Durin trinome come from the already successful ‘kinnatant’ splice. _(See below.)_ Though a popular choice among Entitled elite as gifts, this splice is not a success as a ‘useful’ splice. The frailty of the bird-based bone structure limits it to a companion, administrative, or household servant role.

Splicer Brand Design: The splicer brand is the valknut, a symbol consisting of three interlocked triangles. This word was coined from the Old Norse valr, meaning slain warriors, and knut, meaning knot. _Source: Wikipedia.org_

The Durin trinome is unique, and the splicer made a unique brand for them. Each new generation is bred and not made, so the brand is a birthmark on the neck. This mark, consisting of three silver triangles interconnecting to form a larger triangle, was then tattooed with gilded silver ink once a Durin reaches maturity and entered House Cotton service. The practice was discontinued during the reign of Thegn Marco Cotton.

Psychological Attributes: All descendants of this splice line are to be registered as actively empathic at birth with the birth House Splice Affairs, or its equivalent, and the Orous Genome Bank. House Cotton ordered this trinome to have long-ranging empathic abilities. This  includes, but is not limited to, rudimentary sending/receiving emotional communication ability to include non-gifted individuals, proficient emotional reading of multiple individuals at once, the ability to be trained to use this emotional "knack" to influence other individuals up to and including subverting their will by manipulating fears/wants/desires. This trinome does not have telepathic capabilities, but an unforeseen extreme psychic sensitivity makes unspoken communication the preferred option for expressing themselves.

Physiological Attributes: The upper body is human, though the lycant modifications are unique to the Durin line. The pointed lycantant ears are enlarged and fold forward for better hearing. This design makes for an almost sheared-looking earlobe that can move independently, with a full-grown beard and long hair nearly hiding them.

The lower body is a bird form that the Durin trinome splicer based on a kinnara, hence the kinnatant part of the lycantant/kinnatant splice. A Durin trinome's knee is not backward; it is located higher up in the mid-thigh area of a pure human. The leg's backward bend is the ankle, with the trinome walking on the ball of the foot and elongated toes. A Durin trinome doesn't have thigh feathers or a tail, but their stance is to lean slightly forward. They do have fancy edge feathering down the back of their legs. The wings are the third set of appendages formed from a set of shoulder blades modified to act much like a bird's wishbone in its anchoring of the muscles needed for flight. Wings of a full trinome are each generally 1/3 longer than the body length and have a complete set of flight feathers. The more human descendants, with human body structures and the resulting weight increase, have wings averaging half of their body length, with a full set of primary flight feathers being a rare occurrence. No matter how much of a human form a Durin trinome takes, or seemingly level-headed, they are a born brawler. One always has the weakness for battle lust and its accompanying temper deep in their psyche.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kinnara  

The bones of a Durin trinome are unique for a lycantant in that they are birdlike: hollow and lightweight. They are naturally carbon-based thanks to genes from a rare deep-sea fish found on Calus 9 whose identity is classified by the splicer. This solves the problem of the fragile kinnatant, as a Durin trinome can fly, but a crash landing would break bones.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bird_feet_and_legs#/media/File:Bird_leg_and_pelvic_girdle_skeleton_EN.gif

Note the feathers that are covering the top of the foot. The foot pad is rugged and is suitable for anything from surefooted walking on slippery ice to near silent marching on the most expensive alcazar's delicate floors. Trinome guard ensembles include intricately engraved silver foot greaves coated in mithril. This type of trinome expresses negative emotions with antsy feet. Anger and other intense emotional pain become a display of the outright, intentional destruction of flooring, or anything else within reach.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bird_feet_and_legs

Because of a trinome's birdlike center of gravity, one is extremely difficult to knock off balance. They are also light enough that the foot claws make excellent knives when they perform a flying loop jump that eviscerates an enemy. Combine this with the Durin's Folk tradition of training with archaic, hand-held weapons, such as knives, swords, and axes, and you get an enemy left in pieces. These factors, combined with a weakness for battle lust, make court behavior training a must from a very early age. Trinomes raised for gladiatorial games are considered feral and often have a biting habit that includes urges to rip out pieces of anyone even remotely annoying them. Durin's Folk balance their warrior nature with a code of honor embedded in their genomes, instead of the standard obedience traits. This code can lead to strife with Entitled owners who expect perfect obedience.

The dominant Durin trinome plumage is a black that is iridescent to the point of gleaming blue in direct light. The trinome has dark hair ranging from dark brown to a deep black. The most desirable coloring for a court guard splice is iridescent black plumage with blue-black hair. Red iridescent plumage is the second most common color. The human hair and beard range from ginger to bright red. Diluted coloring with blonde hair and beard with golden plumage are undesirable. Black plumage with a red tint is forbidden. Diluted colors are accepted as long as desired primary colors are included in the plumage, as in silver with red speckling throughout. Most of the Durin's Folk descendants, who have at least one human form parent, favor ginger coloring for both human hair and plumage. It is common for farther generations from the primary breeding line to have mixed, subdued plumage and dark brown hair and beard. All descendants, regardless of form, inherit a dominant gene for an extended lifespan. One copy of the gene produces a 150 - 200 year expected lifespan. Two copies provide a 300 - 350-year lifespan. A recode can extend a trinome's life much the same as a pure human's, but the complex DNA structure makes this a risky venture.

Source: scripps.ucsd.edu/news/uc-san-diego-receives-75-million-develop-innovative-uses-melanin

Source: http://albertonykus.blogspot.com/2018/11/dazzle-like-diamond-in-rough-evolution.html


	2. The Past - The Baroness Makes a Deal with Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Baroness comes to her senses, for a proper Took must be born on Tuk.

“My lady, you should be resting.” The handmaid rushed out onto the balcony where a very pregnant Baroness Belladonna Took-Baggins looked down on the city below. She had been pestered nonstop by servants and staff after this child had proven that they were ‘viable’. Oh, what a cruel, clinical word; just like the Baggins medic who used it!

“This is a cold place, is it not?” Bella rubbed her belly absently as the tiny child turned in her womb and faced the servant. She did not know how the baby did it, but as he grew and his head became more prominent, the habit grew more obvious. Perhaps he would be a rare male empath, or a scarce telepath like his Took grandfather. Bella herself showed little ‘knack’ aptitude beyond a weak, unpredictable bit of foresight that had not shown itself since Bungo's death almost four years previously.

“My lady, it is mid-summer. The weather is quite mild. Do you require a shawl?” The poor woman would have no clue as to what Bella was thinking of, nor understand the comparison that she was making in her mind.

The estate was a mountain retreat carved out of bedrock that was then used to build the vast citadel with its many-columned promenades. It was a cold, sterile place with its stone buildings and stone fortifications. This citadel was hardly one of the sprawling alcazar cities of her youth where lush gardens with their walkways were full of extended family, servants, splices, all sorts of people going on about their day in a familiar, comfortable way. Here, in this Baggins estate that she would never call home, the Entitled lived far above the daily lives of the working class down below. Her husband's family did not understand the problems of their subjects, nor did they really care, as long as everything ran with the well known Baggins efficiency. House Took may have more wealth, but House Baggins was more affluent, more…respectable to Entitled society. At least that was what the Orus High Houses thought, so it was fact.

“We all miss the Baron, my lady. Why, my own mother was saying just yesterday that the years pass, but the grieving doesn’t.” As if on cue, the handmaiden dutifully wiped a tear from her dry eye with a perfectly pressed handkerchief. The child gave an angry kick that surprised Bella, and made her catch her breath as he turned almost violently away from the servant.

“Of course, you do, Madelia.” Bella forced a false smile, just to receive a new series of kicks. Bungo had been a rare Baggins, strict as they all were, but also fair and attentive to his subjects’ needs. Now, all of his estates were overseen by the iron-fisted regency of her brother-in-law. She had complained about his treatment of her household servants, but to no avail. She was an outsider, and while she could live on Bungo’s estates, she did not own them. Only when she bore Bungo this son, a son who must also be deemed genetically acceptable at birth, whatever that meant, would things change. If the child died, or she remarried, the holdings would revert back to the Baggins family to be given to someone else.

“My lady, you should reconsider the offer of Lord Polo. He already has an heir in young Posco, and a betrothal daughter in Prisca.” White hot rage not her own flashed through Bella’s mind.

“Not another word!” The rage fed her own anger at Madelia’s insolence.

Bella had refused to follow the Baggins custom of a man taking his brother's widow as his own to give his dead brother an heir. Bungo had been her one love.  She had gotten physically ill at the thought of marrying, much less being intimate with, the cold-hearted wretch. The Baggins traditional obligation to have a daughter, betrothed when she was just hours old, was just as distasteful. Her own father had no qualms about betrothing his granddaughters, but at least they were of an age to be agreeable to an arranged marriage.

“Yes, my lady.” Madelia cast her eyes to the floor in deference and bowed. The fact that she would not look up again, or even move until Bella gave permission somewhat softened the unkind feelings that she harbored against the woman. Though she pretended to be an innocent confidant, Bella well knew that Medelia was there to spy for her late husband’s grandfather, retired Thrali Balbo Baggins.

Bella looked over the simplified style of her mourning clothes, a pale green that mocked the deep shades of green and brown that were Bungo's personal colors. She tired of being reminded of his unfinished duties. She tired of being careful of every word that she spoke, to give no Baggins reason to make decisions for her. A Baggins wore a ‘respectable’ mask over an all too often cold, calculating, and detached personality.

Only her mother-in-law, the Lady Laura, from House Grubb originally, was genuiely friendly. She had emphasized the benefits of accepting the offer with entirely too much enthusiasm, being normally a very reserved person. As the lady was not a simpleton, Bella read her message loud and clear: accept any offer and regret it. After Bungo’s death, she had hoped that Bag End would be enough, that the place spent over twenty years together would console her. Three years later, she only felt even more isolated from her husband’s family. Bag End had become a prison.

“I am going home tomorrow. Bag End is to be closed up, permanently. See to it.” Baggins servants were highly efficient, with only the need to tell one servant what was desired before things were accomplished efficiently.

“My lady, you will forfeit your future son’s title, his chances of marrying well." Madelia looked absolutely horrified, whether at the thought of such prospects, or her own, Bella did not care. She would be considered scandalous forever more by her relatives, throwing away Bungo’s last chance for an heir. It did not matter. House Took was her family, her people whom she at least understood, including a few relatives that she could even trust.

“My marriage contract is very clear. I can leave whenever I wish. Bag End will be closed up, forever belonging to my firstborn.” It was an alcazar built for her by Bungo, but with her dowry. House Baggins had scorned her after they realized that she was hardly a Took empath, but Bungo had always been enough. Now he was gone. Perhaps Fate had been kind in ignoring her many pleas for just one child earlier in life. This child would be a consolation for her still too painful grief, as the child would not mourn a father that they never had.

“Think of the title, my lady.” Madelia was entirely too knowledgeable of her marriage contract terms for a lowly servant. The exact legal phrasing allowed Bella to leave if no issue had been born of the marriage, even as pregnant as she was. The handmaid's whining tone which sent her son into another kicking fit was the final straw.

"My child will have the blessing of never being shackled with a title. Perhaps then, he will be free to choose his own life." Bella had often wanted to travel unhindered as a young girl. Bungo had been indulgent, taking her to many fascinating places. Those places had never been wild and unpredictable, nor unplanned like the adventures undertaken by several of her own brothers.

“My child will not be taken from me at birth, a son to be raised as Thrali Mungo sees fit.” Bella’s tone challenged Madelia to dare counter her order. Panic edged her voice, though she was calm.

"As you wish." The handmaiden stormed away, furious. Bella thought that rather foolish, as the woman only went to her own unpleasant Fate even faster. There was no way that she was taking any of her assigned Baggins servants with her.

“Rev, notify my father.” Bella turned and managed a now too rare smile as she seemingly spoke to the city below. She suddenly yearned to see her own suite’s view of the Lesser Smials' sprawling buildings interspersed across rolling hills with their acres of walking paths. It had been far too long. As if agreeing, the child stilled, radiating contentment.

The only answer was the faint swish of a curtain. There would be a House Took yacht waiting to take her home very soon. Yet again, Bella was thankful for her father's wedding gift of a foxy quintet genome engineered to obey only her, to protect her life above their own. She had not been pleased with the idea, but was not naïve enough to believe them unnecessary. Her new home with Bungo on one of several House Baggins homeworlds in the West Farthing solar system had been a perilous unknown. The fact that all five splices were still alive told her more about her worth to this House than any trade agreement attached to her marriage contract.

“Forgive me.” Oh, these pregnancy mood swings! It was as if her old knack was trying to speak with a voice rusty with disuse.

“What for?” A second stirring of the curtain brought with it another soft voice that was wispy with secrecy and surprise. The five brothers were not identical, but took each other’s place all too easily, even in conversation.

“I put us all in danger by not leaving here after the funeral.” How could she have been so blind? Only her status as the eldest daughter of a rival House, and her now depleted supply of precious embryos, had kept the Thegn from giving her to one of Bungo’s brothers. Now she could see in her knack’s odd way that House Baggins had never believed that she would successfully bear Bungo a son. The idea that they were patiently waiting for her to run out of children, and hope, made her heart swell with a sadness that she could not explain. It was as if this child was joining her in mourning the loss of his siblings.

“You were grieving, and we will keep you safe.” Bella could not miss the sheer relief in even a whisper. Who knew what threats the quintet had shielded her from since it became apparent that she had trouble conceiving? Artificial means had not been forbidden, though frowned upon by the suspicious Baggins, but no children had been born. No matter how healthy each carefully screened embryo had been, she had endured miscarriages for years. Even the few embryos secretly impregnated into incubators had not made it past the first trimester.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Bella collapsed onto a sofa and wept. Oh, how she missed her Bungo!

^^^^

“Bella, do not lose hope. Let the man finish.” Thain Gerontius Took, lord of the Took Empire, spoke gentle words, but his glare at the other man in the room warned of dire words to follow if there was no good news.

Grand Guildmaster Regis Daron wore an apparently practiced expression. It had to be if he was reputed to be seventeen eons old, yet still had a look of fear in his eyes. He also did not go into more detail as the expression on Bella’s face morphed from indignant to dangerous at his words. “If you and your husband had come to see me before conception, perhaps we could have done something, but…”

“I will not be patronized!” Bella spat angrily. She and her son were both outraged and defensive after the Guild’s invasive tests.

"My daughter, the Guildmaster deserves our highest respect." Gerontius' tone was lightly chiding. "His services are costly, and therefore, I have perfect faith in him.” He gave the splicer another glare. Cue the good news, except the man looked more alarmed at giving this news than any other.

“Of course.” Bella was not a wilting flower. She could and would be strong. This was Bungo’s son that she must look out for. One more plea to Fate left her heart; she wanted only this child! Why was that so impossible when the rest of her family had so many? She promised yet again to cherish this child, no matter how he turned out.

Do you mean it? Her conscious seemed to mock her.

“My lady, forgive the implications, for there are none.” Regis looked terrified.

"Just spit it out, man!" Gerontius was at the end of his patience, and rational thinking. "My daughter just wants a child, not perfection."

“Then you may have an imperfect child.”

"What?" Tears now forgotten, Bella froze and waited for the other shoe to fall.

“You are six generations, and further back, descended from three splices. Your husband was descended from a line of multiple crossings with the latest being four generations back.” Regis looked ready to bolt at the insults that he had just given.

“You dare to say that my daughter will birth a throwback if she wants a child?” Gerontius would have had this man’s head if they had been in his own territory and not on Orous. Even now, Gerontius’ personal guard had weapons in hand, ready for their Thain to issue the order.

"Yes. It is an uncommon occurrence, and even then, the fetus most often does not have a healthy genetic makeup. With careful intervention, we can help increase the odds of a successful birth. We can make the appearance more...acceptable.” Regis was white as a sheet, confirming to the Thain that this news was no mistake.

“No, Fate has already shown us that intervention will not work. This boy must survive on his own or not at all.” Gerontius’ voice was firm and would brook no argument; Bella knew it all too well. It was the tone used each time that he had refused Bungo permission to court Bella. The last time had been when he stated that the pair could not stay in House Took territory. Only a widowed daughter without children would be welcomed home. No children born to other Houses were ever welcomed. One must be born on Tuk to be a Took.

Bella did not hear the splicer as he tried to reason with her father. It was unwise to continue such a disgraceful pregnancy without therapies to help make the child as acceptable as possible. She thought of this son; a throwback that could never hold a title. The rules were as old as splicing.

A splice could not be Entitled. Any family who spawned a child that bore the traits of a forbidden ancestor was looked down on, as if such disgraceful events never happened in so many of their own beds. It mattered not how many generations before that the careless union had produced a child, it had happened. Future generations were expected to engage reputable splicers to make certain that their own children were purely human, or appeared to be one.

“Fate meant for me to have this child, Papa. I believe that you are right.” Bella could now look back and clearly see that her years of turmoil had not been for naught. Fate had granted her a child, in its own timing. House Baggins would have warped her precious son in cold, cruel ways to their advantage. Only back home, safely birthed on Tuk, would this son be acknowledged as her own. As a throwback, he would have as normal a life as any untitled royal could hope to have.

“You may have this one child, Bella. You must not remarry. I will not see you die a little more each time you lose one.” The Old Took hated that he could order such a thing, but he was right. Their family would forgive one such child for a grieving widow, as they were no threat to inheritance. Even then, it would take all of his influence as a powerful Thain of almost two full lifetimes to make his House accept such a child.

“I will retire to my apartments in the Lesser Smials.” Surprisingly, Bella readily agreed. Her weak knack, woken by renewed hope, now knew that this one child would live, and thrive. Her aunt, who ruled the remote alcazar city-state with an iron fist, and an eccentric flair, would gladly accept them if Bella did not flaunt her child.

“What are you not telling me, Bella?” Gerontius had been alarmed at the daughter returned to him after long decades away. Thin and gaunt, she was now a mere shadow of her former gregarious self. He could not help but be suspicious of her pregnant belly, being the only ample part of his daughter. Fearing foul play, the Thain had made Bella come here when he could sense nothing beyond the grief of loss and relief at being home in her thoughts.

“This is a child favored by Fate, Papa.” Bella placed his hand on her belly and wore the beatific smile that he had so missed. “He shall do great things that will honor your mercy and bring prestige to House Took.”

“Letting this throwback live is a cruel mistake.” Gerontius would mince no words. People would hate his dear daughter for something that was not her fault. Even when he felt a flash of surprise as the baby kicked his hand, he dismissed the sensation. Took babies did not show knack tendencies, especially ones too young to survive on their own. Took children had their gifts awaken as they entered their adolescent years, and no earlier. There was a pause, and the second kick was just that, a mere kick.

“But…” Gerontius allowed an indulgent moment for his favorite child. “But he is the infamous Belladonna Took’s son. He will be just as unforgettable a Took as his mother.”

“Papa!” Now weeping with more than grief for the first time in years, Bella could only grab her surprised father in her arms and hang on for dear life to this chance at happiness.

Once more a plea to Fate left her heart, promising to cherish even an ‘imperfect’ son. If only this one child’s kicks did not weaken. If only she could hear the wail of his first breath and feel him struggle into life as he was set on her chest for the first time.

Do you mean it? Her conscious once again seemed to mock her. Or was it? Bella herself was too full of joy to have this tone of mind. Will you cherish the moments when people look at you with pity, or disdain? Would Bungo approve?

He is Bungo’s son. Bella internally snarled at the grating thoughts. Bungo would understand that he is what he needs to be.

“Who is he, my daughter?” Gerontius was giving her a puzzled look. Though he was long trained in not prying into the thoughts of others, strong emotions could echo words into his mind.

“My son, your grandson.” Bella paused before smiling that beatific smile again. Gerontius relaxed, eager to have his daughter back to her former self.

“What proud Took name shall be known far and wide, as you have already proclaimed his fame and fortune, my dear Bella? Perhaps Isengar?” The Thain knew that Bella had been especially close to her younger brother, and his absence had made her willing to leave with Bungo.

“Mmm.” Bella paused, holding her breath in deep thought. This name would need to have so much meaning, would have to convey a very specific message.

“Bilbo!” The name popped out with a whoosh of air. She looked at her father expectantly.

“You were ever the cleverest of my children, my dear!” Gerontius laughed long and loud for many a day afterward.


	3. The Past - Transformed into Terror Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A painfully naive trinome is betrayed. Thorin has served House Cotton royalty for his entire life. His inbred loyalty has made him blind to decades worth of changes. Death would be preferable to a lycantant forced from his Clan.

Thorin marched into the Thegn’s cathedra hall with his head held high despite the squad of androids surrounding him. For the first time in decades, he entered without armor or sword. Now disgraced, he was only allowed a basic training outfit of loose-fitting, black short pants and a sleeveless cream shirt.

The House Cotton Thegn was new to the throne, and Thorin could smell the traces of uncertainty about him without bothering to mentally ‘scent' for emotions. Thorin felt all of the various general states of the ‘witnesses' to his hearing. Not counting the usual court staff there were maybe two dozen people here today. The two feuding Cotton cousins and their retinues, mostly. The majority of those were bored because they did not want to be here, or just curious at the rare, unusual court activity.

“Thorin, istuda!” The command was given in a bland voice. Thorin immediately complied, despite the circumstances. It was the first command taught, one of mercy. It meant to sit, in a trinome’s unique way of settling on the floor. It was supposed to be a kindness, a rest break during a long day of standing guard, where one could eat and refresh oneself before continuing what might be hours more of standing. This command had been given to diminish his well-known pride, to subjugate him, make him smaller as the House nobility sat looking down at him in the center of the room.

“Thorin, you were born during the reign of my grandfather and our fourteenth esteemed Thegn, Bowman Cotton. Is that not right?” The Thegn now looked on Thorin with all of his attention. Bored expression or not, it was an uncomfortable feeling. House Guards were invisible, meant to be ignored. Thorin immediately adopted a bowed head pose, showing his uncertainty of what his masters wanted of him.

"Answer me, Thorin Durin! For this is your trial, and I will be deciding your fate this day." This Thegn was young, and seemed to not know Durin court manners. Perhaps he did not. No trinomes had roamed these halls in over ten years. Thorin himself had been reassigned to guard the prior Thegn's youngest son, who was rarely called to court.

Thorin took a deep breath and looked around. He had been trained from his youth to scan the emotions, and the intent of those emotions, of those coming to court. He was never to scan the emotions of those he was guarding. Though he recognized many of the faces of the Thegn’s court, he did not personally know more than a handful. It was hard to miss their curious stares; for it was apparent that trinomes were no longer something that they were used to seeing.

“I was born to this esteemed House 195 years ago under Thegn Bowman Cotton's rule." Despite sitting on the bare floor with bare feet, Thorin forced himself to face his ruler with the pride of his line. His Clan was one of House Cotton's crowning achievements during the glorious days of its expansion so long ago. When Thorin was a small child, the Thegn had insisted on being called “Nick” and often called Thorin and his two siblings to play with his own children. Those were the days when Thorin’s own grandfather, Thror, had been the head of court security. That was long before Thror became ‘unstable’ and was dismissed from service.

It was the memories of that kind Thegn that had kept Thorin loyal to his training despite seeing the end of his Clan's age. Nick's son and successor, Thegn Marcho Cotton, had not deigned to keep Thror’s son, Thrain, as his own head of security. He had elected to gradually phase out the trinome squads and replace them with various other splice varieties. By the middle of Marcho’s reign, the young and upcoming Durins had no places in court to take. Most were either sold after formal training, or given to cousins across the House Cotton territory for various purposes.

Thorin still remembered his own cousin, Balin, as the elder Fundin son professed excitement at finishing his studies. He had been promoted as majordomo apprentice to a House princess who was being married off to the younger son of House Bolger’s ruler. Thorin also remembered the rumors of how Balin’s younger brother, Dwalin, had not taken the news of their separation well. He had been trained to be in the court guard, as had Thorin. No one knew where Dwalin had been sent after an altercation with the too proud Cotton second cousin of the Thegn that Dwalin had been given to.

"Thorin!" The angry tone brought the trinome out of his thoughts. For the first time, and with nothing to lose, he carefully examined these Entitled. He ignored the testimonies of the two feuding cousins. Both had never met Thorin; both claimed that the other had used the guard to spy on their households.

“Thorin!” The Thegn was not happy that a mere guard, and the one on trial at that, was ignoring him in favor of apparently staring out of one of the many sunny windows lining the hall. Thorin snorted; obviously, this Thegn knew nothing of his kind if he had never seen a Durin scan a room for emotions. Never looking at your subject was the first rule of emotional manipulation.

Thorin quickly came to two realizations. One, Marcho had been a decent sort, and tried to give Thorin an out of the way ‘pensioning out’ job. He must have expected Thorin, and the old ways, to die about the same time that he did. The trouble was, Marcho had died only halfway through his second lifetime. The original two eldest sons were properly trained heirs, but both had died of a mysterious sickness. Thorin also found it odd that Marcho himself had died of a heart condition that he had never had in his first life. Stationed in an out of the way alcazar city, and taught from birth to trust his House rulers, there had been little that he could do.

“Thorin, what do you have to say in your defense against these serious charges?” The Thegn was a 35-year-old barely trained in Entitled etiquette, much less governing and politics. Thorin wondered briefly why the second heir’s only son was made Thegn instead of Marcho’s youngest son, Marro. For the first time since being confined to his quarters at the start of this Thegn’s reign nearly six months ago, Thorin felt unease at his circumstances.

“Why am I on trial? I have served the House of your father and grandfather faithfully from my youth.” Thorin’s hair might lack his status braids with their mithril beads and gold thread, but the dark tresses still shone with the silver strands of his age.

Laughter answered the question as the entire room echoed with ridicule. The two cousins began yelling at each other, and the Thegn, but all laughed at Thorin. The Thegn, hardly amused at what he must think was a manipulative technique of some kind, began again.

“Thorin Durin, were you not advised of what this trial would entail? Where you not informed of your charges and the perilous situation that you are in?”

"When I was first ordered to quarters there was no explanation. Five months ago, the secretary of Thegn Marcho’s majordomo came to say that there was an investigation into my status as a court guard, my fitness to do my job.” Thorin had been most offended, and let the man know his displeasure, loudly.

“What else?” The Thegn rolled his hand expectantly as Thorin realized that he did not even remember the man’s name, he had been so isolated,

“Two months ago, Lord Marro Cotton, who was my charge these past decades by Thegn Marcho’s order, came to see me. He said that he would clear up this misunderstanding and testify on my behalf today if needed.” Marro had confidently said that Thorin had nothing to worry about. With a sincere smile that Thorin thought he knew well; he had promised that Thorin would be retired if needed. The aging trinome would be taken on as an advisor of sorts. Thorin had believed the man whom he had guarded with his own life as Marro had grown up studying in House Cotton’s most prestigious cities of learning. Now Thorin saw that he had been a fool all along. He was a scapegoat for some trivial family matter, and his final service to his Thegn would be to die to end this annoyance.

“Thorin, should we have an intermission for my own majordomo to explain things to you?” The Thegn only shook his head as if Thorin were the stupidest splice ever made. It was not as if Thorin could just leave his suite in a remote alcazar city to investigate the allegations against him.

"No, for my fate has already been sealed, whether I understand the circumstances or not." Thorin looked around in disgust. Not one of those present spoke up for the honorable service of his father, him, or any of his Clan. In fact, the daughter of one of the bickering cousins had been looking at his folded wings with a certain calculating greed the entire time.

“Lord Marro disavowed his House, title, lineage, and family just before joining the Aegis, just before my coronation. Rather rude of him.” The Thegn sniffed at such a slight as if Thorin’s trial was as trivial a thing as picking a new color for the throne room. “He could not have been to see you, as he is working at Aegis Headquarters on top secret…whatever. Marro always was more a scholar than a leader.”

An eerie calmness settled over Thorin as he quelled the betrayal for another day. He concentrated on ‘tasting” this girl’s emotions and scents carefully, as she seemed to be the most directly informing person here. She wanted the feathers of his wings for a party costume after he was executed. He felt loyalty morphing into something forbidden, something unspeakable to be experienced later.

For now, Thorin took a deep breath as his mind felt an odd calm in accepting the fact that he was going to die. What he said now would be his last words, and those words would mean something that even these Entitled would take notice of. He would not leave them with the impression of a barbaric clan. Durin's Clan had served with honor, and he would act with courage. In return, that honor demanded justice that he would seek.

“This House that my fathers and I have served faithfully, and with honor, since your own esteemed ancestors created Durin himself. This House, that insisted so fervently that we be bred with a code of honor.” Thorin felt the last of the mental ‘shackles’ of his court training shatter as he stood to his full height. He opened his wings and let them shine in their full glory as they shone an iridescent blue jewel tone in the full sunlight. Let these people see what a majestic creature a Durin truly was.

Now Thorin was on the same eye level as the Thegn as he spoke his words of condemnation. “This House itself no longer has any honor to speak of to allow such a mockery of a trial. Fate let your ancestors create Durin’s Folk, oh Thegn, but I demand that it not let you destroy us so shamefully!”

The room erupted again, but the Thegn seemed to have expected such an answer. One word quieted the entire room as he spoke judgment. Thorin did not care; in every fiber of his being, he knew that he was right. He was being wronged, and he would demand redress.

“Thorin, son of Thrain, I will graciously dismiss the charges brought against you, in deference to your years of loyal service.” The Thegn’s expression was too calm as Thorin continued to break all the rules and stared him down. It was clear that this trinome would never again obey anyone but himself.

“However, you are just like your grandfather and father, unstable and dangerous in your elder years. You suffer the unpardonable sin of choosing to boast an attitude wholly lacking in the proper respect and deference needed to serve this House. Your punishment is banishment, and the loss of the glory that this House once so graciously gifted to your Clan. You will be sent, dishonored and disfigured, away from this court for all time.”

Thorin found himself collapsed before the throne, thrown there by decades of expectations and the code to serve honorably dictating his every move. He could not believe what he had just heard. Not even Thror had been exiled. Now, Thorin would be forever marked as a traitor and sent away from all that he had ever known. Horror had him shaking like a leaf as he spoke.

"Mercy, oh Thegn. To show mercy is all that I ask." A quick knife thrust was all that it would take to end this pain. Thorin's voice broke as his tear-streaked face looked up into the face of the one that he should be dying to protect. “Why show such disdain for all that we have done for you? Why be so cruel as to force me to live alone away from my Clan?”

“The Durin trinome has never performed as promised. One such as yourself is too expensive to care for, and does not breed true with acceptable colors. This makes the splice form a frivolity that does not justify the expense of its keep.” The Thegn snorted in annoyance at some past expense figure that even Marcho had been unwilling to keep paying.

“As to yourself, Thorin, my uncle would be most displeased to hear of your death. Perhaps he will come out of his hiding place one day and engage your services as an advisor or something of that sort. Think of this as the chance to live your life as you wish.” Thorin saw none of this House’s past glory in the prim, cold face.

Tears and a final sob for mercy did nothing as pain shot through Thorin’s face when his head hit the floor. His upper torso was pushed down and held firmly as his hair and beard were quickly shorn despite his pleas. More hands held him down as a last surge of energy sent him to stand, to take off and fly away. The pain was terrible as his wings were unfolded, wrenched in painful ways. Then…then time seemed to freeze a moment as he felt a baby’s first breath explode as an angry cry. His own roar of fury and pain followed a heartbeat later before the burning pain took his wings and consciousness.

^^^^

Awareness brought with it nothing but pain and rage as Thorin was renamed ‘Lot 156' and shoved into the auction ring. His senses phased to a red haze as he felt his ruined shirt stick to his wounded back. His blood boiled as hot as his fever raged through his body. He roared in defiance as he grabbed a guard and broke the man's neck with his bare hands. The crowd roared its approval as the figures on the holoboard doubled and continued to rise as the bidding became a frenzy of credits.

Thorin paused and looked around as he sensed the overwhelming feeling of approval. Durin battle lust had always been a danger, had always been something that was warned against. Now he smiled a terrible grin; no one had stopped him from killing, they wanted him to kill.

When Thorin's new owner, a battle scared lycantant, looked him over, he was most displeased despite the pleased swan splice bringing him a grand prize for his fold of great fighters.

“I do not like it, Ayun. This one is too much of a risk. He was sent to die in the ring, yet he seems to thrive on death. He does not even understand our language.”

Thorin did not understand his new owner’s Commonwealth tongue. He did understand his signal to grab the foolish Ayun and smother him before dropping the carcass to the floor.

“You understand enough, I see.” The lycantant looked deeply into Thorin’s eyes. “It is a terrible thing that I will do to you, but we each survive as we can.”

Thorin merely sighed and soaked up the approval as his new Clan leader caressed his scalp through his now short hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not decide if Thorin or Bella should have chapter 2. Would a switch be better?


	4. The Present - Bilbo's Ruined Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's life plans are in ruins. He has been given riches beyond his dreams as compensation, and a certainty that he will die before enjoying any of the splendor of his new title.

Bilbo knew that he was acting like a child, but he did not care. He was angry at how his life had turned out, not at all as he had expected, and he had no qualms at showing the world that anger. The shattered remains of the sheave that he had thrown were a splendid symbol of his shattered dreams.  
  
“Your majesty.” The owl splice, Ugle, sighed as he signaled yet again for two nearly invisible and shy mouse splices to clean up the mess. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of sweeping and Bilbo’s ragged breathing. Oh, how he hated that man! Ugle was the embodiment of what he was supposed to embrace, happily and thankfully. His grandfather had definitely been mad at the end if he thought that Bilbo would go along with his insane plan. The man had had two long lifetimes to prepare for the worst. It was not Bilbo’s responsibility to cover for his carelessness.  
  
Bilbo did not care that he was the four times great grandson of Isengrim II, tenth and most famous Thain of the Took Empire. Bilbo did not care that this was the ancestor who was supposed to be considered almost a god, and revered as such, for expanding the Took House empire across not just quadrants of the galaxy, but whole galaxies themselves. Ten galaxies, so what? Bilbo’s life plans were still in ruin.  
  
“Your majesty, your grandfather...” Ugle tried again even as two mouse splices finished cleaning up from his temper tantrum; it would not be his last. Their names were still unknown to Bilbo, Ugle had refused to mention them, being so beneath his, much less Bilbo’s, station. The two nervous splices scurried away after efficiently cleaning up the remains of lunch, and the latest batch of now broken sheaves on the floor.  
  
“I know who my grandfather was.” Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms like a child. Well, he was not yet the legal adult age of 25, nor even 21 for another few months, so he could act that way if he wanted. His vexing 21-year ceremony and its attendant responsibilities had gotten him into this mess. Was there a way to use Amber Nectar to become a small child again?  
  
“I know that your majesty is still upset about your life plan changes, but you must understand that the privileges that you have enjoyed all of your life have always had a price.” Ugle was way too patient to be a majordomo. Who had spliced this asinine creature anyway? Bilbo would find out, and be sure to avoid that obviously uptight person at all cost.  
  
“I know that I had the privileges so that I could be an effective ambassador to the Sindarin Alliance.” Bilbo was the only one of his cousins that had not been xenophobic since birth, seemingly. While most of the Entitled in the universe enjoyed exotic species, most Tooks barely even tolerated humanoid sentient species. Big surprise there, Bilbo sat with a huff and forced himself to try to be calmed by the view that he had loved enough to choose this moon as his home. The various other jewellike moons dancing their orbits in the sky causing a three- or four-week blackout storm every few months did not hurt either.

  
The ethereal Sindar race, rumored to live eons without Regene, with their uncanny foresight and other unforgivable (unattainable by genetic manipulation) abilities were only tolerated because of the power their alliance brought the Took House. Gerontius had given them a seemingly impossible task, to find one of his missing sons, to secure that alliance. He had been insane yet again to doubt that the Sindar could accomplish any task set before them. Bilbo had been quickly “volunteered” to be their liaison, soon to be the ambassador when he came of age.  
  
Bilbo could not admit it, but it was the promised freedom of living three galaxies away at the center of Sindar civilization being taken away that made his changed fate now unbearable. He had relished the idea of being free of his mother’s family. Without her or his father to buffer him from family politics and machinations, Bilbo had been at the mercy of his Took grandparents, uncles, aunts, and even cousins much older than him. All had different ideas on how to raise him, all tried at one time. Bilbo agreed with his one cousin, Adalgrim, who was 20 years his elder and a decent sort, for an Entitled, that it was a miracle that Bilbo did not have a mental breakdown from the mess before he was ten.  
  
Instead, unlucky instead of insane, the Heir Apparent of House Took, Isengrim II, had decided to marry later in life, meaning he left no heirs of his own when his personal ship had a portal accident six months ago into a system whose sun had recently, and unnoticed somehow, gone nova. The lovely vacation spot located on the second world was just as crispy as his remains were.  
  
Yes, Gerontius had sired nine sons, but now four were dead or missing, including his youngest, leaving a power gap that the new Heir Apparent was woefully unprepared to deal with as he had mere days to prepare to assume the royal mantle of Thain.  As the Old Took watched his empire almost implode, he took action a week before he died. Isumbras IV would inherit the Thain title and his own original inheritance, but he would not inherit his four dead brothers shares. Gerontius knew that Isumbras would be busy enough trying to secure his power base as Thain without the trouble of squabbling siblings trying to get a percentage of the deceased inheritance.  
  
Instead, the Old Took combined the personal fortunes of all four sons and combined them into one inheritance for one of his descendants. It was not until after securing the promise from each surviving sibling not to contest his choice, in the hopes that one of their own children would be the one selected, or a future child, that the decision was revealed posthumously a few months ago.  
  
Gerontius had not chosen a grandchild with siblings, to prevent squabbling as such as he had seen with his own children. He also refused to pin his hopes on a promise of children after his Heir Apparent died before begetting his own heir.  Many were betting on the already of age Adalgrim, or even the fledgling ten-year-old, Sigismond. No one would have chosen Bilbo. He was not so much as an honest Took in name, but a Baggins!

  
No one had expected this choice, as they had all hoped for their own child. As Belladonna, having passed long ago, was not around to remind them of their nephew that was there, but not really a part of their own families, they had made an immense strategic blunder. Most had agreed that he was the best candidate for the Sindarin ambassador position and been more than happy to portal him far away. Now the dismissed child, that everyone had tried to raise their own way, while somehow still ignoring him, held more House Took assets than even his uncles.  
  
This was the result of the Thain having a senile episode of some sort. He had never been the same after Belladonna passed, hadn't he? Even Bilbo's aunts, who could not inherit beyond their dowries, protested. He was from a familial, female line. But the courts flat out refused to hear their cases. Bilbo was as much a Took as their own children, having been raised solely by Tooks, and not House Baggins. It was unsaid, but clearly written between the lines of the refusal that basically, Bilbo was the least spoiled of the Old Took’s descendants, and society was not about to unleash a spoiled Took with the inheritance and the associated power of not one, but four sons.

All of Bilbo’s cousins except for Adalgrim had unofficially disowned him that day. Adalgrim, who had a keen eye for several businesses that turned a much faster profit than harvesting, had no real interest in Regene beyond seed money for new ventures and preferred to make his own name versus inheriting it, and the associated death threats and family exile. Actually, relieved to not be chosen, he had become much more visible in his support of Bilbo, coming for tea any number of times unannounced.  
  
Bilbo, wanting just to squirrel himself away on a ship to the Sindar, would gladly renounce his title, though he was grateful to Adalgrim for his continuing, if too exuberant support. Boy, Addie had not wanted that title, though Bilbo could relate. Alas, he was still underage and stuck in this position for another five years, six months, and eight days. Did he mention that he was also stuck preparing for a twenty-first birthday gala entirely redesigned to include a heir acceptance ceremony?  
  
Original plans had been small, though a Sindarin delegation had been promised. Most of Bilbo's aunts and uncles had planned on “forgetting” or “confusing” the date. Only Adalgrim and a few of his youngest cousins had promised to come. Now an ambassador heir, with a party of maybe 100 guests, inheriting only half of his mother’s dowry value would be subjected to a gala of over 10,000 guests, including over 50 humanoid, and 10 not at all humanoid species, representing 25 dominant Houses, hundreds of smaller Houses, and...Bilbo lost count on how many galaxies were represented by allies and hopeful prospective allies, much less how many planets were represented. He tried not to think about it, much less count. Unfortunately, he was now heir and had to suddenly be more important than he ought to be.  
  
“Your majesty.” Ugle tried again, handing him a sheave.  
  
“I know.” Bilbo’s birthday was barely six months away, so he made a face at Ugle while he still could. Before then he had to have a full Royal Guard compliment and at least one security squadron. These details were usually thought of decades in advance with custom ordered splices, but Bilbo had eight, now less than seven months, to prepare. Thanks, Grandfather! Bilbo hated that man, deceased or not, more than Ugle right now.  
  
“Fine. I will allow an android force for the security squadron, for now. You chose them.” Bilbo hated the troops with the child’s nightmare face and arms that were merely guns. He could hire or accrue his own force after the ceremony. His Royal Guard was another story.  
  
“Of course, your majesty.” Ugle nodded with a smile. He had probably custom ordered a squadron of android warriors as soon as Bilbo’s name had been announced. Bilbo hoped that at least they were the standard House Took silver and dark blue. He hated his grandfather’s personal black and silver colors that made the monsters even more hideous. After the ceremony they would be decked in emerald green and silver, his mother and father’s primary colors combined. He would paint them himself if necessary. Ugle’s outrage would be more than worth the hassle.  
  
“I have taken the liberty of assembling a list of candidates for your Royal Guard, your majesty.” Rev, a fox splice, and head of his small security detail that had been his mother’s, handed him a new sheave. Bilbo did not ask how long he had been there unseen; Rev was always near.  
  
“They are all pure human.” Bilbo scrolled through the list of elite warriors, some of whom had been in his grandfather’s retinue. While it would be nice to see the look of outrage on Uncle Hildigrim’s face at having his own royal guard bail on him, it was not worth the risk.  
  
“Humans are deceitful, or if loyal, can be bribed.” Bilbo had little regard for the pure human segment of the House Took empire, whether it be Entitled, servant, or guard. “Splices are bred to be loyal, and are physically superior.”  
  
“Your majesty.” Both Ugle and Rev chocked in shock. Ugle’s surprise was expected, but Rev’s? Really! The splice had raised him from infancy. No Entitled of aristocratic status would sully their Royal Guard with splices. Indeed, they used them as support squadron security, or even as secondary level bodyguards, but none polluted by mere animal genes, no matter it was evident that humans put it there on purpose, would ever be entrusted to serve a royal Entitled.  
  
“Stop calling me that!” Bilbo threw the sheave at Ugle; one never mistreats one’s bodyguard who is amongst one’s few friends. “What happened to you, Rev? You promised not to call me “lord” until I was twenty-five.” There was hurt, almost betrayal, in his voice. Rev had not done anything wrong, and would never betray him, he was incapable of it. Bilbo needed to stop hating Ugle, somehow. The bitterness was seeping into his treatment of his foxy quintet.  
  
“You are no longer destined to be a mere baron.” Ugle began for the hundredth time. Bilbo’s numerous relatives had taken the prince, duke, marquess, earl, and even viscount titles. As House Baggins had refused to accept his arrival four years after his father’s death, he had no Took claim to a title except that of Baron reluctantly granted, and only to appease the Sindarin Empire. Bilbo should never have told his grandfather what he could do with his anger at Bilbo’s lack of title. Boy, he had undoubtedly made his grandson regret that statement!  
  
“Is it such a bad thing, your majesty?” Rev cocked his head sideways.  
  
“Yes.” Though Bilbo, being from a daughter’s line, bearing another House’s name, would never be in line for being Thain. That certainly did not stop him from inheriting the estates of four House Took princes. Therefore, he was addressed as Prince Bilbo or Your Majesty. This was another reason for being disowned by his cousins. Only the new Heir Apparent, Fortinbras II, and his siblings were called prince or princess.  
  
“It reminds me that I’m as much a prisoner of my role as a splice such as yourself is, Rev. Except that I do not have the splice’s blessing in one's genes to be able to accept such a role.” Bilbo would never say such an abominable thing as to compare an Entitled lord’s inheritance to a mere splice’s life role. Rev was his friend, and Ugle, well...he had better not say anything to anyone if he valued his place as majordomo. He was needed for now, but Bilbo could easily replace the owl splice after the upcoming ceremony. Adalgrim would gladly take over the splice’s contract and put him somewhere “useful” if he was any less than loyal to Bilbo’s wishes. The new prince’s life might depend on that loyalty very soon. This new level of death desirability was also a downside that Ugle did not appreciate the magnitude of.  
  
“I will let your head of security discuss this further with you, your majesty.” Ugle took the obvious hint. Thrown things never actually hit anyone, but he had quickly learned when his arguments were futile. He also had a household to get organized, and a gala of 10,000 guests to oversee with the other House Took majordomos.  
  
“Give me options, Rev.” Bilbo got up from the table on his new suite’s balcony and looked out over his new alcazar’s landscape of rolling hills becoming distant mountains with three great rivers with waterfalls within view. This might have been one of his youngest uncle’s least holdings, but Bilbo had loved this moon on sight and dragged his entire entourage here as soon as he could leave the House Took home solar system. It might take a decade to build up the holding to the level needed for a fully outfitted alcazar, but few of his servants complained about the somewhat cramped space that was blissfully free of Took Entitled.  
  
“You need more than a Royal Guard.” Rev took the rare opportunity to sit, now that Ugle was gone, and pulled several sheaves from an unseen bag. “The expanded kitchen needs a head cook who can actually use it to the point that the undercooks are making three meals a day, not nonstop scurrying around all day and night trying to feed your ever-growing household.”  
  
“I know.” Bilbo had inherited the contract of Swan, a once graceful, now aged swan splice, from his mother. He was loyal to a fault, and an impressive master baker. That was fine when Bilbo had a retinue of 10 splices; now he had over 100 servants, and the list was growing. Swan was out of his element, content to create mouthwatering menus, but unable to develop, nor implement an organizational plan that could make those meals feed such numbers efficiently.  
  
“You need a Head Mason. I do not like that we are forced to trust the head contractor with oversight.” Now Rev showed a bit of the real fear in his eyes. Securing safety for an ignored baron was easy. The security needs of a prince’s alcazar not already constructed were pushing the limits of and past his experience to nightmare levels. Rev did not like depending on his sources for assurance that hired labor was honest, much less loyal enough not to install faulty security systems or not plant bugs. He knew that at least eight mid-level construction and barge flight squadron supervisors were planted spies from various Tooks. Bilbo had expected it and let them be, content in making his family underestimate him versus having to deal with harder to find espionage.  
  
“I need a new majordomo.” Bilbo was not sulking as he watched eagle splices play in the mists rolling off of Shining Falls. They had been ordered as a custom royal guard by some idiot Entitled despite raptors being notoriously unruly to handle. He had gladly bought them at cost from the Splicer after the prototype had ripped the idiot’s head of security to shreds. Never slap a splice, especially one with razor-sharp talons and wings.  
  
Bilbo’s family had not been happy, especially when Bilbo wanted the deadly prototype. But he had been advised to splurge on at least one thing to celebrate his grandfather’s generosity. Though buying two dozen semi-feral splices that refused all the trappings of civilization had not been expected. Too bad, Bilbo was half fool of a Took, and his relatives had better remember that! The eagle splices had happily been dumped on this moon even as Bilbo had ordered female mates of the same genome for them from the shocked Splicer. Now Bilbo had an alcazar that an assassin would be hard pressed to approach unnoticed, and the kitchen had an abundant supply of freshly caught fish from the moon’s lakes and rivers.  
  
“Ugle knows the ins and outs of Entitled society, as well as having valuable contacts.” Rev knew that Bilbo had been unhappy with being forced by his grandfather’s will to take Ugle as his first majordomo. Such power needed steady guidance from the beginning, and Bilbo was still woefully underage.  
  
“Ugle has my grandfather’s wants and desires on his mind. What he wants for me and what I want to do will be two very different things very soon. He will not be happy with my itinerary, especially after I turn 25.” Bilbo also could not imagine arguing for years to come with someone who saw him as utterly unprepared for his new role. He did have the same education as his cousins, often surpassing them in intellectual, if not physical, training courses. He now had more to learn, but there was nothing wrong with his ability to learn. Bilbo did not need someone who patronized him and tried to make decisions on his behalf ‘for his own good’. As an orphan, he had had no one to spoil him like his cousins had been, and was wholly independent, thank you!  
  
“You are too much like your mother.” Rev allowed a soft smile for a moment. “Too wild even for a Took. Hardly a respectable and predictable Baggins.”  
  
“Father had a temper of his own when it suited him.” Bilbo turned from the balcony, grinning. “And stubborn.” Many times, Belladonna had told Bilbo the story of how Bungo, a young duke from a middling, but ancient and well-respected House, had dared the Old Took’s wrath to court his eldest and most beloved daughter. Bungo had incessantly petitioned, wrangled, and flat out annoyed the Thain into agreeing to a courtship.  
  
“It is time for tea, Rev.” Bilbo knew that his assistant was waiting in his sitting room with more construction sheaves to go over. “Join me for first breakfast tomorrow. I will look over your suggestions tonight and inform you of my decision then.”  
  
“Excellent, your majesty.” Rev handed a quiet house feline splice the sheaves and melted into the shadows.


	5. The Present - Thorin's Final Days as Achilles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now a champion gladiator, Thorin is sold under suspicious cirmcumstances.

“I do not like this, Achilles.” Thorin’s partner, Karu, was a trinome like himself. His human genome had been spliced with what Karu called a ‘glacier bear', giving the splice a thick mop of blue-grey hair. The corresponding burly body was further enhanced with the thick skin of some ‘gar' fish, made up of hard scales. The scales were small and hard to see, but Karu assured Thorin that smaller was better for flexibility. This combination made him rather like a cross between an earthen tank and an odd tercie toy called a ‘troll’. Karu attacked from the ground, while Thorin assaulted from above. Both were masters of shield and sword, which made them a winning tag team that had been bought at a significant cost for tomorrow’s big show.

“Why? It is because you had to leave your girlfriend behind, or is it girlfriends?” Thorin laughed as he lounged in their rather comfortable cloister room, ripping into a fresh piece of barely seared meat and enjoying the half raw taste. They had long ago risen through the ranks to earn their own room, but lavish furniture, servants at their beck and call, and bowls kept full of their favorite foods made this place a paradise in comparison to their last home arena on Naluna 4.

Karu was typically laid back with an easy-going smile, rare for a fierce gladiator, but it made him the perfect match for Thorin's now famous temper. His glum face showed that he was reluctant to partake in any of the choice food or other luxuries that Thorin cast himself at without abandon.

“I know others who came here, but none who have left. I did not see any gladiators here that I’m familiar with, Achilles, and I have been a fighter for a long time.”

"You think that we, the best fighting team ever, were bought for a fortune just to be toyed with and killed to show off some new splice breed?" Thorin huffed a laugh and ripped into another chunk of meat, not caring about the pink juices running into his beard. He would have preferred a long, honorable beard just like any Durin, but there was no more Durin clan. It was short and close-cropped to not provide any purchase for an enemy to grab. It was now also shot through with silver.

"You are the empath, Achilles. They obviously will not tell us if we are walking dead. It is bad for business." Karu never called him teammate or friend, only by his name. Thorin had never encouraged anything else, nor questions about his past. Karu only asked once for him to be a loyal partner who tried his hardest. For survival's sake, Thorin had agreed. They were fodder for entertainment. Both long-lived, he had been expecting their latest owner to sell them for something younger one day. Like the racing animals that he had watched with his charges long ago, Thorin would never be given a retirement sourced from any of the vast amounts of prize money that he had won his owners. He would be sold off until he met death in the ring, just as House Cotton had wanted.

“The tending servants are of a splice that shields their thoughts and emotions.” Thorin did not like it and the fact set off old instincts, but he just reminded himself that he had been bought to fight until he perished to become genome harvest material. Nothing mattered.

"No one wishes to die, Achilles." Karu was having one of his rare, but insightful philosophical thoughts. Thorin often wondered about his upbringing. "One just wants to escape what becomes unbearable. My life has not become unbearable. I would welcome an honorable death in an excellent match, but I do not want to die viewed as mere fodder for a new monster."

"You were never a monster." Thorin allowed a rare compliment and an even more unusual showing of fond emotion. He put down the hunk of meat that suddenly tasted bitter on his tongue. He eyed the luxuries with suspicion as he checked their armor and weapons, cleaned and polished by their own hands. It was the best that their former owner would buy. The quality of the metal and masterwork suddenly seemed cheap and inadequate for what the splices would be facing.

“You were never a gladiator, Achilles. I have never asked, but you have too fine a taste in blades, and your superior fighting skills were taught in no training arena. You earned your scars only in recent times; you should bear many older ones for all of your years. You were once part of a great House, and you will be again one day." Karu’s dark brown eyes held suspicion, but he did not pry more yet again. Thorin had never told anyone of his past, not even his name. He was dead; why should what was gone matter now?

“One can only trust one’s own skill and steel. Trust no Entitled, ever.” Thorin ran a finger down the length of his sword’s blade. The sharp edge pierced the thick callus, but he did not bleed. He was no longer a person and no longer bled.

Karu got up and faced Thorin, who gave an unconscious growl at this intrusion into his personal space. Karu only smiled sadly. “You accept that you are going to die and enjoy the luxuries provided by those that you hate, Achilles. As you enjoy your last meal, will you honor my last request, the request of one who has protected your back with sword, shield, and blood these past few years?”

"I have nothing to give, Karu." Thorin shrugged, ignoring the solemnity in Karu's action as he carelessly plopped back down and grabbed a mug of ale. "What is it that you desire? For me to emotionally overwhelm the pretty splice, who brings our food, so that you can have a last lay in? You know that I…" Thorin shook his head in disgust. No matter how hard he tried, he could be as callous as he wanted. It did not matter; he could not bring himself to do things that genuinely offended the honor, and its protective traits, spliced into his genes.

“Two things, actually.” Karu smiled for the umpteenth time at Thorin’s limitations. The bear splice sat and grabbed his own ale reluctantly, seeking to find wisdom in the golden color. “Never change, Achilles. Always keep to that precious gift that no trainer has been able to beat out of you. I have always envied such splicing. It will serve you well again one day, mark my words.”

"Maybe." Thorin downed the mug and sloshed more ale on the table, floor, and himself as he poured another. Karu was not a certified ‘knacker', but his human base seemed to have been gifted by Fate with a small bit of foresight. It was rare, and never wrong. Too bad that it was mistaken today. Neither would see another dawn. Or another one shortly after that if they survived today and against the odds yet again. He too, had heard the stories of this place. None returned, no matter how successful they had been. Unlike Karu, he had also noticed that new splice breeds coincidentally appeared in the most popular arenas shortly after those missing gladiators had been sold for ridiculous sums and taken away.

“Maybe. Most likely, my so-called ‘honor' will hinder the monsters that will be pieced together from our genomes.” Thorin’s first lesson as a gladiator had been that his real value was from his rare and challenging splicing. His first owner, a former lycantant gladiator himself, had not cared if Thorin fought well or not. He was literally worth more dead than alive, no matter how many fights and championships he won.

“My time has come, and I must accept it.” Karu seemed adamant. “But you…you, Achilles, the second and final thing that I ask is that you remember me with kindness when you stand in full formal armor in your new House. I pray that they appreciate you.”

“Filth! Pure Filth!” Thorin threw his mug at Karu, who easily deflected it with an armor-skinned arm.

“I have seen such a thing in a dream several times, more so these last weeks.” Karu looked very sad as he put his full mug back down.

“I will not pledge such a vile oath!” Yet again, Karu’s fighting ability kept Thorin from trying to wring his neck. In such a rage, he had killed two other partners for such idiot statements or actions.

“You must accept what Fate gives you, Achilles. Why is it easy to accept death, but not an honorable future?” Unlike himself, Karu kept pushing, as if he knew that this was his last chance to speak. It would be, if he continued to enrage his partner with such words.

“There is no honor in serving Entitled who do not even know what honor is. I will never serve anyone but myself ever again.” Thorin hauled himself up and hovered menacingly over Karu, almost daring him to make such a statement again. It would be a shame to lose an excellent partner, but their new owner's displeasure at the monetary loss would be enough of an incentive to wring the burly neck.

“Then be certain to die today, Achilles, if you wish for your wants to be true.”

Thorin growled and turned away in disgust to bother the servants for another plate of meat. If Karu heard the curses for the genome that made Thorin honor bound to protect him later in battle, then all the better.

^^^^

“This is not a circuit arena, Achilles.” Karu stood shoulder to shoulder with his partner as they stood on the arena floor, looking up and around.

"More of a training arena." Thorin was somewhat disappointed that  Isengard Arena was medium-sized on the grand scale of things. Karu was of the same frame of mind.

“An arena just large enough to showcase new stock, and impress buyers.” Karu had whined nonstop with a bear’s huff. This arena’s fancy decorations, more so to impress potential buyers than encourage ticket sales, actually frightened the bear splice.

The hand-deep sands were warm from the midday sun, despite the light filtering energy ceiling. Thorin wiggled his toes pleasantly even as he crouched down to take a handful. He carefully smelled the extremely fine silica grains, but did not notice anything unusual. There were no traces of blood or other bodily fluids or scents. Who not only washed their arena sand, but sterilized it daily? It was as if the arena owners did not want a gladiator to have any clues as to who or what they would be facing, or how others had fared here.

"Achilles, I have risked all of my savings on the bet that we will win. Either I will die, or I will walk away from here a free man. This afternoon will be my final match." Karu was looking up at two lighted rows of walkways that separated the upward climb of seat sections into three areas. Several dozen well-dressed figures could be seen striding along the elevated walkways, or hanging off of the railing, watching the gladiators closely.

"Hmm." Thorin had seen Karu, and other gladiators, place bets on matches as well as much as the arena audience did. Most had middling to disastrous results. Karu had never lost a game of chance in his life, but his success brought value that made the price of his freedom an astronomical amount. Gladiator splice contracts did not have profit sharing clauses. He instead directed his mind to watch one young Entitled in particular, who wore dark green and sky-blue robes, and who was watching Karu closely. Though he looked young, the haughty expression made Thorin suspect that this lordling was at least a millennium old thanks to whatever regenerative he used.

“Nectar or Crystal juice?” Thorin nudged Karu to look at the bastard. “As to you, we will be a team here for a long time to come.”

“No, Achilles. This is a sales arena only. Look, there are no advertisements.” Karu was clearly even more unhappy as he finally saw the unwanted attention. “I also talked to one of the servants. For a few coins, she admitted that this is a moon with restricted access. There is no populace to entice into paying for entertainment. Those who come are all in some way connected with the splicing company that owns this entire solar system. It is not in Commonwealth territory. The law gives us little protection here."

“It is close enough for these people to come. Bad business practices scare off customers. We will be fine, Karu.” Thorin was getting aggravated by Karu’s feelings grating on his nerves. They were currently in the arena for practice, to become adjusted to their new home, not to panic.

“That man wants to buy you, Achilles. He is scanning you, not me. He is an empath, for he whispers in my head like you do when you sleep and do not shield your knack. Is it not true that the first rule of empathic scanning is not to look at your quarry?” Karu actually smirked at the thought of Thorin being outwitted by a mere lad. “He is young, noisy enough to tell me that he is barely trained. Perhaps he is from a Western Alliance House. I have heard that empathy is common there, and their knacks mature very late.”

“Western Alliance?” Thorin did not believe anything that Karu had surmised. No one outwitted him. No youngling, especially one from the backwater West, would be buying gladiators. No, that would mean…

“Take up your sword, Achilles.” Karu shoved him out of his musings. They did have to practice, after all. They needed to know the footing, the arena size, the best angles of the light to avoid being blinded during a fight.

Thorin did not hear him. In his mind's eye, he was back in the West, back in that barracks. A promise, tempting to believe, had come from a cub in dark blue robes. Thorin had been sold and shipped clear across the Commonwealth within the hour of the boy being collected by an official. Thorin's name had changed yet again, and nothing had come of the promise.

“It is too early.” Thorin counted the months that he could recall. Years tended to blend together, so it was difficult. The boy would grow up too late to be able to find and buy him. His search, if it had ever begun, would end with a picture of the deceased gladiator in Orous’ entertainment guild archives.

“Achilles!” Karu’s sharp reprimand quickly brought the trinome out of any musings, or rare longings of hope. “You must practice with your fancy new sword if you are going to wield it correctly.”

Thorin looked at the sword that had been gifted to him that morning. It had been on the weapon stand as if he had left it there the night before. Karu had guessed that it was Sindarin by the cryptic markings. Thorin knew no letters, only if a sword was well balanced and held a keen edge.

“Are you certain that you do not know that young Entitled? A friend, maybe?” Karu’s comment got the desired reaction as Thorin finally acted on his earlier impulse and flew in full rage at his partner. On cue, Karu easily sent his partner flying over his shoulder, shook his head to stop the ringing in his ears, and froze when he saw the lordling sneering down directly at him in disgust.

Thorin now felt the mind behind the face. He seized this opportunity and ruffled around in the sensations of the lordling's mind before he realized that Thorin was scanning him. Yes, all there were buyers. No, no one had seen the showcased splice. Such would practice last, to avoid giving the fighting teams an advantage.

_A single gladiator against Thorin’s team. Inexperienced. It would be a tough fight, but not beyond Thorin’s capabilities. It was the second wave of the match that he should be concerned with, for the founder of this particular splice line…_

Thorin looked around. The imperious lordling was gone. Karu was being questioned by one arena official as two others spoke to a medic crouched over the trinome. Had he been knocked out? No, his head was just fine. It had not been empathy, but another knack, one that Thorin knew he was without.

“Can this gladiator fight or not? Do we need to scratch this team from today’s lineup?” The officials seemed very unhappy at that prospect. Thorin could sense that someone important wanted him to show up, at all cost.

There! Thorin saw an older woman in the too familiar deep blue of her House standing with a man dressed in subdued, but still recognizable to Thorin’s experienced eye, House Cotton regalia. They were speaking in an angry tone, and staring at Thorin, their facial expressions showing a tad more than the usual mild displeasure associated with Entitled life.

It appeared that someone from House Took had found Thorin. He wondered if a potential search by the cub had brought unwanted attention. Stretching his marred shoulders, he knew that there was no way that Thorin would be owned by House Cotton ever again. Karu was right; Thorin would be certain to die today before ever dressing in that detestable House’s uniform ever again.

“Is this team able to continue or not?" One senior official stopped all of the arguments between the others. "All of the potential buyers have arrived, and we promised them only the best stock." Thorin showed his rather impressive canine teeth in displeasure at the word, and at the thought of being seen as subpar. He was a champion!

“Achilles is physically fit. I would deem the problem knack interference.” The medic shrugged and put away his scanner. “Keep them on the list.”

“Can this team be put up for sale as healthy?” The official did not like the sound of that estimation.

"Sure. I certified this team myself yesterday, and see no reason to change my conclusion." the medic was not nearly as affected. It was not his money on the line here.

Just as Thorin fixed his stance to face Karu, he saw the imperious lordling embracing the woman in Took blues, calling her ‘aunt’.


	6. The Past - Bilbo's 18th Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adalgrim plans on sneaking off with Bilbo to celebrate a birthday that his cousin will never forget. His intentions are good, but he just fails to realize how memorable it will become.

Two years prior…

“Bilbo, it’s your 18th birthday today!” Adalgrim’s distinctly Chubb red hair lit up in the morning sunlight as he opened the window curtains with a flourish. Bilbo refused to get up at the crack of dawn, even if his cousin was entirely too eager to finally get Bilbo off of Bandobras. Being on one of the lesser House Took planets that the orphan had been relegated to was hardly the place to celebrate such an important birthday.

“I can’t just go racing across the quadrant, Adalgrim.” Bilbo groaned and pulled the covers back over his head, even if it was more to block out his cousin than the need to go back to sleep. He had long ago learned that getting up and going to bed early helped to avoid unwanted relatives.

“Loosen up. Come on.” The blankets were pulled down with a yank, or at least they were meant to. Bilbo was what was actually yanked as he fell out of bed. He managed to disentangle from the sheets without sounding pained, but still gave his cousin a dirty look.

“Sorry, Bilbo. I forgot that you don’t use the anti-gravity beam.”

“I forgot that you promised to keep your knack at bay in my room.” Adalgrim was shrugged off as Bilbo opened his wardrobe. He knew how Bilbo felt about knacks. One’s 18th birthday was not the day to once again rue the dismal results of his own ‘knack’ test. “Lark, I want outfit 20, the brown and gold affair."

“You will need something a tad more appropriate for such an auspicious day.” Adalgrim scowled at the clothes and ordered the chamber presence to bring out something more ‘Tookishly appropriate’ for a Took’s birthday outfit. “We don’t want to attract attention, or you may not get to leave for hours. I've got a schedule to keep, Bilbo.”

“You have trouble to meet up with, you mean.” Bilbo held back a more scathing comment as he accepted the new outfit. Instead, he settle for tossing his first choice of clothing into an overnight bag that Lark had included.

Bilbo might be one of the youngest of the Old Took’s numerous n, but even he had the brains to be wary of Adalgrim’s plans. Being stuck in the Lesser Smial alcazar city for years under his great aunt’s watchful eye had taught him to approach anything with Adalgrim’s name on it with caution. It was why he had accepted this birthday outing without questioning it. He had been on several supervised excursions around the Took home solar system for schooling and a few holidays, but he doubted that Adalgrim had such innocent intentions as his tutors and the occasional well-meaning relative did. His aunts and uncles were very vocal about their disapproval of his cousin’s “dubious” pastimes.

“Is my schedule clear today, Lark? Messages?” Bilbo already knew that he had the entire week free. He had conspired with Adalgrim to secretly ship his two tutors out for their own vacation last night. Great Aunt Lola might run the city alcazar with an iron fist, but she was well past 100 years old. By the time that she was awakened and given her daily update on its citizen’s comings and goings, Bilbo would be long gone. His meddling relatives’ panic at telling the Thain that they had lost track of his grandson they were charged with smothering was part of his birthday present to himself.

“Your official schedule is clear, though several relations have reserved you for a visit at tea time. I have your polite refusals programmed to be relayed in one hour. This should be well past the time that your informal schedule has you eating breakfast on Lord Adalgrim’s cruiser as you travel to Galvon.”

“It would be nice if you would recall that I just won a gaming world in a card tournament, and hurried yourself up a little, Bilbo. You have to go with me to check it out. It’s bad form not to meet the governing administration.” Adalgrim impatiently whined like he was the younger boy being denied the chance to go. This should really have been the signal to decline, but now being 18 meant that Bilbo could go off Bandabros without a chaperone. His soon to be in deep trouble relatives would disagree, but it was not his fault that they had long ago forgotten what being young, or alive for that matter, felt like. Rev and his squad of guards would always be with him, but they didn’t technically count unless Bilbo decided to do something truly stupid or illegal.

“I just want to go somewhere fun where I can have a good time to celebrate my birthday.” Bilbo had only allowed himself to plan on getting drunk or something like that. He was still underage, but a few drinks to bribe his squad would quell any complaints. The idea of a pleasure splice house was tempting as he heard Adalgrim’s description of Galvon, but Rev would drag him home by an ear or two, after boxing them. Bilbo was lucky in the fact that his guards’ loyalty lay with his mother’s memory and not his meddling family, but there were always others quite happy to spy on him.

“You just want to get away from Grandfather. He has been entirely too interested in you these past few years, Bilbo.” Adalgrim had long ago learned that the Old Took was not above using his descendants to help expand or secure the family empire. Bilbo may not have noticed the monthly inquiries that his tutors had put up with, but Adalgrim’s ‘friends’ that were paid to chat in his ear had not missed the summons that several splices, including Rev, had recently received to see the family patriarch.

“Grandfather only cares to remember that I exist at Yule, when he gets sentimental and actually remembers that Mother is gone.” Belladonna may have been the Old Took’s favorite daughter, but Bilbo was the son of the man who had taken her from her family. He was also one of the too many to count grandchildren that were too young to hold a title. Being born male also meant that Bilbo wasn’t even useful enough to be able to be betrothed to more than a trader clan unless he managed the impossible and inherited a title.

“Yule is not that bad, Bilbo. All that is required of you is to listen to stories and get a present. Half of our cousins are green with envy every year.” Adalgrim took one look at Bilbo’s grimace and burst out laughing. If the vast majority of the other half of their cousins flat out pretended that Bilbo was never born, it wasn’t worth mentioning that being ignored was usually a safe bet for one’s personal safety.

“Exactly, I’m forced to listen to him admonish Mother for marrying my father whom I never even knew, and how it broke Grandmother’s heart. Then I get a lecture on being on my best behavior. It always makes me late for the feast, and the best dishes and desserts are long eaten.” Bilbo was now the one pouting. His jealous cousins were no doubt stealing entire platters as payback for the unwanted attention that he got.

“You get the best present.” Adalgrim was laughing again. It was also not worth mentioning that he bribed servants carrying serving trays that he was suspicious of to avoid Bilbo’s notice.

“I get a sheave of the complete and glorious Took family history yearly update.” Bilbo blew a raspberry in disgust.

“Everyone wants a copy of Grandfather’s gossip sheave.” Adalgrim had seen bootleg copies on the black market at unbelievable prices, before the sellers were ruthlessly executed by the Old Took’s forces.

“I get the abridged children’s version, which means that half of the sheave is made up of admonishments against acting as my relatives have.” Bilbo was glad that he was not noticed the rest of the year. When he was younger, he had dreaded a possible summons to see the Thain and having to answer questions about what had actually been written. His only use for the sheaves was when he let his bored younger cousins read it to make fun of the writings. Rev’s squad acting out entire scenes in pantomime never happened.

“Just keep Grandfather happy by keeping those sheaves in a safe place.” Adalgrim’s tone was a tad too serious for his comment to be taken as a funny joke.

“Why?” The shrewd face that Bilbo himself wore now reminded Adalgrim of the few distrusting Baggins Entitled that he had the misfortune to come across in his lifetime. That clan took their suspicion of ‘unrespectable’ outsiders to a whole new level of paranoia.

“I’m two decades older than you, Bilbo. I’ve seen Grandfather as Thain oversee a dynasty my whole life. He is not a sentimental man. Everything he does is for a purpose.”

Bilbo was not a grandson who was thinking loving thoughts regarding his forebearer right now. More than once, the Old Took had mentioned his disappointment in Bilbo for not only not being a girl that he could betroth as a child, but the boy had not even brought any useful alliances between House Baggins and House Took with his birth. His look showed a rebellious teen with a Took temper who would gladly crush the sheaves with a sledgehammer.

“If you don’t trust Grandfather to know what he is doing, then at least do it as a favor for me. I do have some experience surviving as an Entitled lord, Bilbo.” Adalgrim’s grip on his arm was just a little too firm. As a child, Bilbo had long ago noticed that Entitled took the idea of subtlety, whether it be warning or threat, to the level of art form.

Bilbo suddenly felt a cold shiver down his spine at Adalgrim’s serious face and the pleading in his eyes. That pleading wasn’t something that he had ever seen separate from his cousin’s begging for more trouble expression. This seriousness was starting to put a damper on his birthday. That could not be allowed. “Fine. Fine. Why don’t I give them to you for safekeeping?”

“Because I’m too busy having fun to be so responsible.” Adalgrim’s face morphed into his silly, fun-loving cousin again. Bilbo still felt another cold shiver.

“Really?”

“Really.” Adalgrim barely kept his silly smile; he rarely found a need to lie to those that he actually liked. Bilbo’s sheaves were encoded to his unique gene print. If the Old Took caught wind of Adalgrim having even one in his possession, he doubted that Regene could fix what was left of him.

“Bilbo, are you alright?” Adalgrim gladly changed his attention to Bilbo’s suddenly pale face. It couldn’t be that Bilbo sensed his small lie. That would be a disaster. “Cousin, are you holding out on me about the results of your testing?”

“I thought that you wanted to drag me off to fun to forget such things.” Bilbo’s countenance immediately changed to exasperated. Everyone had immediately wanted to know the results of his talent review, until they all walked away disappointed, or even gleeful. “It’s bad enough to have my testing delayed for three years, but to be able to be delayed for three years is worse.”

“It was Aunt Bella’s request for it to be delayed as long as possible, Bilbo.” Adalgrim knew that Bilbo had held a foolish hope that being found to have a talent, or ‘knack’, would finally please his family. He desperately craved to be talented in any way, where even a weak knack was rare and potentially valuable. This had only led to the addition of even more shortcomings on Bilbo’s stupid mental list. He wasn’t yet old enough to realize that being normal actually kept Bilbo safe from potential competitors who would consider anything else enough reason to have a deadly ‘accident’.

It was not unheard of for Took girls direct descended from the male Thain line to be born with empathy, and were quite prized for betrothals. Once or twice in a generation, a boy such as Adalgrim was born with an oddball talent like telekinesis. Most Tooks had their knacks appear at puberty between the ages of 11 and 13. All of the others were tested for latent talents by 15 years at the latest. An awakening knack that would benefit House Took’s standing had to be jealously guarded and appropriately shaped as it was ushered into existence.

“I’m not talented, Adalgrim.” Bilbo’s last hunger-induced nightmare as he fasted during the four days before his test had been about showing foresight talent and being trapped in his family’s clutches for eternity. “Are you taking me to your new world or not?”

“We really should check in with Great Aunt Lola first.” Perhaps sneaking off with his younger cousin hadn’t been such a good idea. Adalgrim had relatives who had tried his entire life to put some responsibility in his head, to make him think. Actually thinking about it made the entire idea of taking a teenager who had never left home to a Roman-style pleasure world sound quite corrupting. Adalgrim grinned at Bilbo’s pained face; of course it was a great idea. “Let’s get out of here.”

^^^^

“Take a break.” Bilbo motioned the pilot of Adalgrim’s shuttle to basically get out of the cockpit and become a passenger on his own vessel.

“Oh, Bilbo. Good morning.” Cox, a pure human who looked like a bear splice, changed his expression from annoyance to bemusement. “Sorry, but this is official business today. Lord Adalgrim is meeting with the governor of Circus Maximus first thing. You will need to stand by his side in an official capacity. That means that you have to wear actual clothes and not a flight suit. Entitled do not…”

“Entitled sit around for our two whole lifetimes and run things, but don’t actually accomplish anything.” Bilbo blew another of his favored raspberry noises, settled his fine Took silk robes so that they wouldn’t wrinkle, and sat forlornly in the copilot seat. An orphan who was Entitled, but would never hold a title, he had driven himself from the age of 10 to be an accomplished pilot. His insistence on piloting everything that he rode in had made his skills wide ranging. Not wanting to die in transit, his tutors had made all of the evicted pilots teach Bilbo about the vessels in the interm time of transit. Lots of little trips added up to many hours of wise instruction.

“Bilbo, you are with me.” Adalgrim leaned down and gripped his shoulder. Another cold shiver ran down his spine, covered by another raspberry. “You are an adult now; attend to my needs as I meet Governor Corvelius on my yacht.”

“You have a retinue of 50 staff, including the five that eternally simper to your needs by your side.” Bilbo forced himself to get up and actually sit properly in a passenger seat, which also forced Adalgrim to be the one to find a seat next to him.

“Bilbo, Cox is an excellent pilot.” Adalgrim sighed as he watched Bilbo fidget around trying to find the seat straps. “You need to learn that you cannot control every situation. Not every person you meet is going to be your tutor or quintet guard.”

“Great. I’ll ask for a few pointers.” Dismayed at finding a paltry lap belt wedged in the seat crease, Bilbo reseated himself in the copilot seat and only relaxed after securing the harness.

“Comfortable?” Cox grinned. Bilbo was a true pilot, through and through. He was wasted as an Entitled. He and several other pilots in the Took fleet had tried to sponsor Bilbo as an Aegis pilot candidate at age 16. Many young nobles without titles or generous inheritances had made a name for themselves in service to the Commonwealth. Bilbo had graciously thanked them, but his dream was to go to a university and one day design and actually build craft that Cox could only dream of. This dream was heavily influenced by his grandfather’s severe restrictions on his life, but he didn’t mind as long as he still got to fly.

“It will do, for today.” Bilbo tried to say with a somewhat genuine grin. Instead, he found himself staring at his harness, focused on the webbing sliding between his fingers.

_“Papa, I can’t fit properly in this seat!” A small boy’s voice was shrill with anxiety. Bilbo felt small hands pulling on his cape.  
_

_“Then I will hold you, little one.” Bilbo was scooping up a small body and holding it close. It was so light! Long, dark hair jangled with several silver beads, mimicking the sound of windchimes in a summer breeze._

“Bilbo?” Adalgrim leaned down and almost took his cousin back home. Bilbo’s distinctly green Baggins’ eyes were unfocused and shone with a silver gleam as Bilbo watched his hands, but didn’t actually see what they were doing.

“Yes, yes. I’m quite comfortable, thank you, Cox.” Bilbo looked over to see Adalgrim hovering. Cox had begun the preflight check, as they did have a tight schedule to keep.

“I’m not ill, Addy. I just need some breakfast.” Bilbo tried again, then realized that his cousin had not asked.

“I’m going to buy you a pet for your birthday, Bilbo.” Adalgrim watched Bilbo’s shoulders shrink in with another shiver. “You spend too much time alone studying and being holed up in the flight simulator. You need someone to talk to if you are having entire conversations in your head.”

“Maybe.” Bilbo’s tutors were the best, and therefore strictly on professional terms. Rev and his foxy quintet had not been hands on friends since Bilbo had stopped needing to be treated for scrapped knees. A young man needed alert, unobtrusive guards, and they had become what they had promised Belladonna they would be.

“There is a fine splice market on Circus Maximus. Surely you can find an exotic splice your age for a companion.” Adalgrim tried, but he had to backtrack to the passenger seats as the shuttle was given clearance to leave.

“You always feel chilled in space, Addy. I’ll get you a warm flight suit.” Bilbo continued his nonexistent conversation as he adjusted the shuttle’s temperature without a prompt.

“You do that, Bilbo. You do that.” Adalgrim knew that something wasn’t right, but what? He had a week to figure this out. Perhaps Bilbo did only have low blood sugar or something and needed to eat. His cousin often forgot about dinner as he became immersed in studying after finishing lessons in the afternoon. Adalgrim still pulled out a sheave with splices for sale in the market. If something was up with Bilbo, he would need the perfect companion for a cover story.

“How about a porcupine splice, Bilbo? Our cousins will think twice about messing with one.” Adalgrim took a minute to figure out how to filter the sales for knacks. The resulting list made him cringe. Splices with knacks had to be authorized before conception, and went for a sum triple what the rather pricey porcupine splice’s contract had been listed for.

“Addy, we need a seat adapter. Where can we buy one?” Bilbo was actually looking back at him, there in the moment.

“Seat?” Oh, ok. Adalgrim smiled, glad to again be part of his cousin’s spoken dialogue. “A booster seat, great idea! Buying a young splice will be cheaper, and they will live longer. More malleable, too.” He ignored Rebane’s insulted huff of disapproval.

What did it matter if the only immature splices sold were usually rejects that journeyman splicers who were just starting their businesses couldn’t afford to cull? That meant that a pet quality splice of a good line might be in Adalgrim’s pocket change budget. Rebane could disapprove all he wanted, he was a guard and would keep to his station. Adalgrim brought up his filter again and began to ponder what would be a good age for a splice child that an 18 year old could care for.

“We’ll need a clever tailor, too. I was thinking Took blue with Baggins green trim to start.” Bilbo was happily carrying the conversation, an oddly content smile on his face.

“Possible. Depends on the fabric.” Adalgrim skimmed through the listings. There were some possibilities.

“Addy, you have the wrong sheave.” Bilbo cleared his throat to get his attention and held out an official looking sheave with several seals engraved on the metal spine.

“Thanks.” Adalgrim absently reached out for it as he it floated to his side. “I’ll look at that one in a moment.” _Pray that I find the right companion, Bilbo. I only have a week to bring back a perfectly normal cousin to Grandfather._

“You wouldn’t know normal if it hit you in the head, Addy.” Bored by his cousin’s lack of interest, Bilbo turned to chat with Cox.

Adalgrim forced himself to not look up with a start. Instead, he once again reset his search filter and grabbed a third sheave that would allow him to liquify a few assets and expand his pocket money budget quite a bit. Biblo’s birthday ‘pet’ might turn out to be very expensive indeed.


	7. The Past - Arrival on Circus Maximus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adalgrim and Bilbo arrive on Circus Maximus. Bilbo learns which dishonest Ministers to avoid, and gets Dwalin upset for not buying a ticket.

Governor Corvelius might be a man gifted with a talent for organization and efficiency, but he was also a leader who had an extreme fondness for pomp and circumstance, or the sound of his own voice. Bilbo couldn’t decide which it was as he tried amusing himself as Circus Maximus’ tenant ‘lord’ introduced Adalgrim to the eight esteemed ministers on his Council of economic advisors. It wouldn't be so bad if this were Corvelius' only Council, or if introductions were brief. Instead, this was the third Council, and the governor was following every traditional he could remember, or more likely, made up on the spot.

Bilbo turned to a lynx splice which was one of Adalgrim's two assistants. "Klo, why can’t the governor just gather every council and have the ceremony once?”

He knew the reason, apparently because self-appointed lords got as much done as Entitled when they acted like one. That wasn’t the point, though. Bilbo was bored, and was not above pestering others to amuse himself. His dream birthday on a holiday world had turned into a bureaucratic nightmare.

"Yes, this is my cousin, Bilbo Baggins." Adalgrim turned from the last Minister after apparently remembering that he had a distraction from the monotony at his disposal. He motioned for Bilbo to come to his side. "Bilbo, Minister Grelan wants to meet you."

“We will ‘discuss’ this later, Lord Baggins. You have been summoned.” Klo managed a professional smile that also promised that they would have an uproarious time laughing about this later. There were benefits to being raised by splices.

“Lord Baggins? Really?” The downside to those benefits was that household splices had no qualms about including Bilbo in their own amusements at his expense. Klo’s low huff of laughter was followed by a tug of impatience from Adalgrim’s knack that nearly knocked Bilbo forward off of his feet.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Minister Grelan." Bilbo's practiced smile became forced as he managed to make the stumble transform into a quick bow. Something was off about the genial-looking middle-aged man looking Bilbo over with too keen eyes.

Most of the other ministers had literally blanched at hearing the name of Baggins. Bilbo had simply chalked it up to yet another well-known truth that his grandfather had deliberately kept from him. This Minister's reaction should be seen as positive, except Bilbo wanted to back up and growl an angry warning. The low _hrr hrr_ thrumming from his fox quintet who had been assigned to the edge of the group did nothing to calm him.

“I was telling the Governor and our esteemed Lord about how I was so looking forward to meeting you, Sir. It is my dearest wish to be able to show you all that our humble world has to offer you on your most memorable birthday.” Minister Grelan’s words oozed like slime instead of doing its job of reminding Bilbo of honey.

“These proceedings will soon end, but there are some administrative duties I must attend to that can’t be delayed, Bilbo.” Adalgrim did not look happy. “Governor Corvelius has graciously offered the services of Minister Grelan as your guide while I’m detained. As the economic Minister overseeing the casinos, he is well acquainted with what you would like to go see.”

Despite his last name, Bilbo felt a familiar burst of his very Took temper. Did these people actually expect him to waste his life savings, that Lapin even now guarded, in a casino with games of chance? Did he have gullible and naive written across his already too young-looking forehead? The games might be certified to be free of tampering, but nothing kept the establishments from designing the games to have a low chance of success to begin with. Bilbo had other plans for his money, thank you! He required rare replacement parts for the ion drive of his skiff, and maybe adding a decent outfit or two to his wardrobe would not hurt.

“I was looking forward to going to the Coliseum to see the gladiators.” Bilbo ignored the angry looking Rev who was definitely ready to step in and ‘guard’ him against being robbed in any way. He let the statement hang in the air as if he were too young to understand the rudeness of his outburst.

“Ah, yes.” Grelan gave the now speechless governor a reassuring smile. “The Golden Riata casino has unparalleled coverage of all of the gladiator events live across the planet. You can see interviews, replays…”

“I wish to watch the gladiators’ practice at the Coliseum, as it is scheduled to begin in an hour." Bilbo's smile was now a snarl. He did not like this Minister. The man was not to be trusted. With another shiver, Bilbo knew that the man had plans for him, and was just waiting for an opportune time for…for something.

“Forgive me, everyone.” Bilbo abruptly turned and bowed to the governor before pulling Adalgrim aside. “I will be retiring to my cabin until you are free to tour the capital.”

“We have rooms prepared for your entire contingent of…” Governor Corvelius blessedly only seemed confused and not disappointed. Minister Grelan was angry, but still watching in his calculating way. Too bad. Bilbo wasn't a child anymore, stuck to listening to the whims of family. He was the Thain's grandson and a noble in his own right. Rudeness did not matter, he was leaving.

^^^^

Grelan watched the young lord literally flee from his sight.

“Nervous lad, isn’t he?” Minister Tigon, the head of the auditors’ guild, and Grelan’s close ally, leaned in and spoke quietly after Grelan took his seat. They watched the governor and their new Lord turn their conversation to official matters while taking their own places. The governor did not look happy, but he began the meeting with his outstanding efficiency.

"More like the boy knows more that is good for him." Grelan gave Adalgrim another, more careful, once-over look. He had brought his young cousin for more than a birthday outing. Their new lord was of the subtly shrewd kind of Entitled that one must be aware of at all times.

“Still, the boy is young, and obviously does not know any manners.” Grelan wanted to dismiss Bilbo from his mind as inconsequential. But his instincts had always served him well, especially in identifying a possible way to profit, or an unknown threat. As a minister, Grelan was used to people treating him with respect. Even those that didn't know him had the good sense to connect his expensive ministerial robes and entourage with the idea that he was someone important, someone due some respect. This boy's unusual reaction, along with the mysterious name of Baggins, made him worth more study.

“You are never one to take offense at a youngling.” Tigon well knew Grelan’s perchance for finding his followers in the forgotten young of society.

"When it suits me, and this behavior may be just what I need to get closer to our new Lord. A grandson of the Old Took should never be discounted in terms of usefulness and is worth watching." Grelan allowed a small smile before turning to the governor and quickly answering a question about projected earnings for a particular casino.

^^^^

The clashes of steel mixed with many a battle roar in the extensive training ring area below to create a unique show that oddly resembled a nimble troop of dancers. This was saying something when said dancers were actually professional gladiators of varying splice designs practicing for the upcoming bouts that evening.

Rev looked around at the empty rows of seats around them. “It appears that we have a packed house.”

"It also appears that we are not entirely welcome here." Rebane was always the first to notice potential dangers coming their way. In this case, the threat was in the form of a winged being who had been watching them at times interspersed with his work in instructing two sparring partners.

“What are you doing here?” The figure gave up on watching them out of the corner of his eye when the fifth set of sparring partners stopped to point and start laughing.

Bilbo yawned and stretched even as his quintet came to attention and surrounded him. The seating might be behind a fence and high up from the training arena floor, but those wings were massive, getting more massive as the trinome headed their way with clear intent in his stride.

“Sit down, Rev.” Bilbo had been watching individual sparring pairs with mild interest, but this gladiator was in a class by himself.

The gladiator had massive black wings that shone with an unmistakable iridescent blue hue in the harsh arena lighting. As he opened them, Bilbo saw how each kind of feathers had the edges carefully dyed different colors. The primary flight feathers were a fully dyed metallic red that gave clear warning as he got a running start. He sailed up in the air and landed with a heavy thud nearby, marching over with angry purpose.

"This area is restricted. If you want to see the show, you have to buy tickets for the games later today." He faced Rev, who was clearly in charge as the fox splice barely contained his group with a sharp bark. They had jumped up to surround Bilbo, hands ready on hidden weapons.

"A guest of Lord Took, and his retinue, is allowed to go where he wishes." Rev had decades of practice with hard-headed splices who thought that they were their own tier of splice lords. As the leader of a princess' security quintet, he knew exactly where he and his own stood. This foxy quintet bore the Thain's own House seal and was permitted to go wherever they pleased, within reason, in performing their duties.

“This area is not open for tours, private or otherwise. If you want to see these splices fight, then go buy a ticket.”

“We seek…sanctuary.” Bilbo felt a shiver go down his back as Rev began a complicated argument involving guest status and grievances of the highest order.

His voice was a whisper, but he knew somehow that the gladiator had heard him. This splice knew what all of them were doing at all times, and something more, something that Bilbo had never felt before. Bilbo shivered again, with the intimidating splice turning around and seemingly noticing him for the first time.

 _Dwalin._ Bilbo _felt_ the word would be the only way to describe it. He felt the presence associated with the name sweep over his inner self, seeking out information just as his eyes were as they took in every detail of Bilbo’s not so intimidating frame.

 _What is your name, youngling? Why are you here alone; you are just a cub? Why is this fox such an uptight wonder of bureaucracy?_ Bilbo didn’t know if the words were spoken or _whatever_ was happening to him. It was not as profound as sight or hearing, but whatever was happening to him felt like he was aware of touch, all over his body, for the first time. It brought a wealth of new information from everyone around him, as if everyone in a crowded room were trying to speak to him at the same time.

“Bilbo? Bilbo!” He looked up from cradling his head in his hands. Six sets of eyes were pinned on him as a foxy face framed with Rebane’s silver ticked black fur came into close view. He shook his young charge gently, amber eyes filled with worry. “We should go back to our suite and have elevensies now.”

“No!” Bilbo shot to his feet. He turned around, taking in the sight of his quintet going into retreat mode, and utterly baffling the winged splice. Taking a deep breath, or four, helped him to clear his thoughts.

“Dwalin just doesn’t want us distracting his students from their sparring matches. We should be going, yes. Good idea, Rebane.” Bilbo turned to said splice, who was just staring gap-jawed. 

“Rev isn’t a wonder. He was just engaging you so that I could continue to watch the matches.” Matches that were all but halted as the warriors below all stood and stared up at their instructor gaping at him. “I didn’t mean any harm. I needed an excuse to avoid Minister Grelan, and this place came to mind. We will leave now."

“Grelan?” The splice, who apparently was named Dwalin, stood ramrod straight, unconsciously reaching for one of two axes on his back. “What do you know of him?”

“The economic minister took an unsavory interest in our charge." Rev let out a rare unsubdued growl. "We needed to leave immediately." The others chimed in with their own opinions and barks, with more than one set of teeth snapping angrily.

Shaking his head as the memory came unbidden, Bilbo felt sick as he recalled the awful _something_ that had made all of them on edge. It was far more than a general dislike of self-inflated persons in power. Bilbo looked at Dwalin as he shook his head, suddenly knowing that the splice knew precisely what he was feeling.

“This is one of the few places that Minister Grelan avoids. He doesn't like to dirty his fancy robes, or the smell of hard work." Dwalin seemed to finally comprehend Bilbo's confusion about whatever was going on inside his head and simply spoke the words. "Aye, your pack can come to seek refuge with our clan here if you need it. We won't be the ones to turn you over to the attention of a git like him.”

"We thank you for your hospitality." Sensing a mutual agreement on something, Rev and his gang grabbed Bilbo and made their exit. Dwalin stood in the stands and stared in their direction long after they left, deep in thought. He shook his head as he climbed the fence, and effortlessly sailed back down to his everyday life.

"Look alive and get back to practice! Or you won't be for long! Lono, get back to working the long sword with Smirl." Dwalin's bellowed instructions, and glares backed up by hands reaching for an ax, soon had everyone's attention back to where it should be.

"What was that all about?" Dwalin's senior assistant, a splice with thick scales and even more impenetrable armor, came over.

“Why didn’t you keep everyone in line, Kalas? That’s your job, isn’t it?” Dwalin sneered. He hated this jerk façade, hated wrapping who he truly was back up under layers of indifference to those around him. The boy unexpectedly opening up and sharing on such a level that Dwalin rarely found in others had tipped him off balance as little else had in the past decades. Dwalin would have to buckle down in his own training regimen to keep his knacks under tight wraps.

“Something about that Entitled has affected you, Dwalin.” Kalas looked thoughtful, a rare thing for a gladiator known for smashing things first and talking later. “Maybe Fate has finally noticed our little corner of the universe.” Many of their world’s occupants had wondered aloud how their lives would change when the House that had owned it for centuries pawned them off in a mere card game tournament.

“Don’t get all soft and poetic, you old bastard.” Dwalin merely growled. “Fate has nothing to do with our charges’ chances of surviving the day. Baxter! Wake up! Remember that the metal thing on your arm is a shield and not a mirror for admiring your ugly mug.”

^^^^

“Bilbo, eventually you are going to have to tell me what happened to you today.” Adalgrim watched across the table as Bilbo drank his tea and stared at his untouched plate of this world’s choicest edibles. Granted, both of them were passing on the bowl containing two somethings that obviously didn’t want to be an entrée as one headed for the edge of the table and the second used its abundant tentacles to try yet again to climb into a vase of flowers to hide. Still, he was responsible for his cousin’s actions.

“We went to watch the gladiators’ practice, that's all," Bilbo replied as if he had just gone for a walk in a park. He quickly changed the subject by rescuing the first tentacled finger food from the table’s edge as two servants tried to scoop it into a box. He sat back and watched it wrap around his arm and change colors to blend in with his sleeve. No one else had noticed that its companion was now doing an excellent job of pretending to be a flower stalk.

Adalgrim sighed in frustration. Elevensies were traditionally a relaxing time shared with close family that one trusted. It was not as formal as second breakfast, nor as chokingly polite as lunch or tea time with not so close family. He had endured hours of ministerial ceremony and administrative duties just to come home to his new Alcazar to find Bilbo upset rather than relaxed.

The boy was not happy that they couldn’t go to his ship, which had been docked for an unexpected cooling system repair. So, instead of enjoying his carefree, laughing cousin, Adalgrim ate with a depressed group. Bilbo was tight-lipped about his sudden departure, and his quintet looked worried for him, but remained just as silent.

“I want you to stay with me when we go out, Bilbo. This morning was easily excusable with the suggestion that you were overeager to see the sights, but we will be out in public this afternoon. There are expectations to be upheld when you are representing House Took. We must act accordingly.”

“What shall we be doing the rest of the day?” Bilbo was not pouting as the horrified servants watched him literally playing with his food, waving his fingers at a waving tentacle. “Please remind the kitchen staff that we don’t eat animal protein.”

“Ah, I see.” Adalgrim peered closely at a suspiciously twitching flower just to have his nose smacked by one. He cleared his throat and gladly changed the subject. “We will tour the market district and have lunch at a restaurant there. Then we will tour the amphitheater before tea. The games begin soon after.”

“What is in the market?” Bilbo perked up at the thought of vendors bringing all kinds of exotic things for sale. He got so excited, that he set the first entrée in the vase with its friend. “I could use a few new contacts for finding spare parts for my skiff.”

“Still working on that old wreck? I thought that the Council ordered you to sell it for scrap and use the money to invest in training for your quintet.” Adalgrim couldn’t help a laugh at the change in his cousin. Bilbo’s moods were always deep. When he was unhappy, the whole room felt it. When he was happy, everyone couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t forget that I promised to get you a pet. We can go to the splice auctions tomorrow morning first thing. Then we can go back to the market to get what you need for them.”

“I will be happy if I can just find a new temperature regulator for the gas exchange chamber.” Bilbo picked up the vase as a servant reached for the edible escapees. “But first, talk to the kitchen!”


End file.
